


i will follow you into the dark

by BuddysImpala



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Aging, Angst, Death, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Nighttime, P. T. Barnum Needs a Hug, Phillip Carlyle Needs a Hug, aging anxiety, barlyle - Freeform, death anxiety, honestly I’m just a mess, lmao enjoy I guess!, middle of the night, the boys be going through it, this was the product of my own anxiety ASDFGHJKL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 00:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30030189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddysImpala/pseuds/BuddysImpala
Summary: Phillip Carlyle’s father is often the center of his nightmares.But, it is P.T. Barnum who triggers the worst nightmare of them all.
Relationships: P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	i will follow you into the dark

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired both by my own anxiety AND by a conversation with braille about the aging anxiety that would naturally come in a relationship with this kind of age gap. So, basically — I’m a fucking sadist! :D
> 
> Title comes from the song of the same name by Death Cab For Cutie

Phineas is already sat at the table when Phillip stumbles, half-asleep, into the kitchen. Sunlight shimmers in through the window and Phillip squints, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

“Ugh. It should be illegal to be that bright this early in the morning,” he groans.

“It’s past nine,” Phineas laughs. He rises and presses a kiss to Phillip’s forehead, then his hair, still disheveled from sleep. It is the only time Phillip allows his hair to be in such a state, and Phineas has the great honor of being the only person alive who’s allowed to see it that way. 

“Too early,” Phillip stubbornly reiterates. He falls into the nearest chair with a huff. “In fact, perhaps I should go back to bed.”

“Mmm. How about I make you some coffee and oatmeal instead?”

Phillip pretends to muse over this proposal. “Oh... all right. If you insist.”

Phineas chuckles and turns away, his back to Phillip. Phillip hums in contentment as he watches Phineas move around the kitchen. He is dressed, but only casually — he has yet to get ready to go into the circus later that day. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and Phillip’s gaze lingers there, gentle smile on his lips.

When Phineas turns to face him, though, Phillip’s smile falters.

“Phin?”

“Hmm?”

“You look...”

Phineas had a few gray hairs that showed their face every once in awhile. Phillip normally only found them when he was running his fingers through Phineas’s hair. For the most part, his hair was still largely brunet, lovely, and tossed in gentle waves.

When Phineas turned back to face him, however, he had one long streak of gray that _shocked_ through his hair. A streak that, Phillip is certain, had not been there moments before.

Phillip’s mouth opens, then closes, as Phineas brings over his breakfast bowl. The older man is looking at him quizzically as he sets the bowl on the table.

His eyes—

Were there so many lines before?

Phineas settles into the chair across from Phillip, but he moves stiffly, shifting his weight on one leg as if he’s leaning on a cane that isn’t there. Phillip watches, horrified, as the gray streak in Phineas’s hair grows before his eyes, washing away every last trace of the lovely brown color. 

Phineas doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He motions towards Phillip’s bowl, encouraging him to eat.

His hand is lined with wrinkles, marked with age spots. Phillip feels the bile rising in his throat.

“Phillip?” Phineas’s voice creaks. His now-white hair starts to fall out in clumps, dusting the table, the floor. Phineas takes no notice, and he stares at Phillip with eyes that have taken on a milky film. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Phillip cannot tear his gaze away from Phineas’s eyes.

“I—“ he whispers. “You—“

He raises his hand to brush a finger underneath his own eyes.

Phineas tilts his head and smiles. He is missing a few teeth.

The bile wins out and Phillip heaves, getting sick all over the kitchen table. Phineas jumps to his feet and rushes to Phillip’s side.

A few steps away, though, Phineas stops short. The eighty year old man in front of Phillip clutches his chest, and his eyes widen. His dry, cracked lips part, but he doesn’t make a sound.

A second later, Phineas falls to the floor.

He does not move. His eyes are wide, unseeing.

Phillip opens his mouth and starts to scream.

*

“Phillip? Phillip? _For the love of God, Phillip, wake up!_ ”

Phillip awakes, screaming.

“ _Phillip!_ ”

Screaming, still screaming, Phillip lashes out. The man beside him lets out a cry, and then Phillip feels hands on him. They pin him down, holding him to the mattress. His vision is blurred with tears and the person — or thing — in front of him is a misshapen blur. There is pressure on his waist and Phillip realizes that the man is sitting on him, pinning him further, but he still cannot see. Tears continue to sting his eyes.

“Phillip! Christ, Phillip, can you hear me?! You need to breathe!”

Breathe? Breathe? He needs to—

Phillip gasps and, for a horrifying moment, he thinks he can feel the imaginary bile rising in his throat. He sees the man in front of him, the man who was supposedly Phineas, his Phineas, but simply couldn’t be. He—

He slowly realizes that the man on top of him is younger. Older than him, still, but much younger than the man in his dream. His hair is a lovely shade of brown, there are lines around his eyes, but they are gently etched into the skin. Whiskey eyes that are flooded with worry as they look down at Phillip. They are bright and clear, unobstructed.

And, the strength that pins him down is certainly not coming from a feeble eighty year old man.

“Phineas?” Phillip whispers. His throat is raw from screaming — he can’t remember when the screams stopped — and he winces. A heavy tiredness settles over him like a blanket, and he is confused. The combination brings tears to his eyes.

“Phillip,” Phineas whispers. Gentle fingers rain over Phillip’s face, and Phillip struggles to breathe normally. “Phillip, I’m here. I’m right here.”

The tears in Phillip’s eyes spill and roll down his cheeks.

“Phineas,” he croaks.

“Christ, Phillip, what happened?” Phineas gently releases his hold on Phillip’s wrists, but continues to straddle him. His eyes are wide and filled with worry. And... his own fingers are shaking.

“Phineas,” Phillip repeats, “Phineas.”

“Please, Phil. Talk to me. Was it... did you have a nightmare about your parents? Your father?”

Phillip shakes his head. He is exhausted.

“I’ve... I’ve never seen you like this, Phil. If it wasn’t your parents, then what...?”

Phineas’s voice trembles and it is only then that Phillip realizes Phineas... is absolutely fucking terrified.

Though tears are still wetting his cheeks, Phillip closes his eyes. He cannot look at Phineas as he admits, “... _You_. It was about you.”

Instantly, everything stops. It is so silent that Phillip can hear an owl somewhere outside their window.

“... _What?_ ”

The voice that leaks out of Phineas is that of a broken man. Phineas scrambles off Phillip, the pressure leaving his waist. Instantly, Phillip is alone. Instantly, Phillip realizes he made a mistake.

“I... made you scream like that?” Phineas whispers.

“Phineas, no—“

“Phillip, I am so sorry. If I ever did anything... _anything_... to remind you of your father... _Christ_. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“ _Because you didn’t do anything!_ ” Phillip cries. His voice cracks, and he winces.

Another long pause. 

“Phillip,” Phineas speaks slowly, “I’m... I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

The tears come faster now and Phillip cries harder than before. He turns away from Phineas and covers his face with his hands.

He can feel Phineas looking at him, hesitating. Seconds drag by like minutes, but finally, finally, a gentle hand strokes through his hair. The mattress dips as Phineas sits beside him again, slowly pulls him into his arms.

The broken sob that leaves Phillip’s lips makes Phineas cringe, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he hides his face in Phillip’s hair, and Phillip can feel — as well as hear — his tears.

“Don’t cry,” Phillip croaks, “Please.”

“Phillip, I did something to frighten you, and I have no idea what. I have no clue how to fix it or—“

“You died! All right? You... _you died!_ ”

Again, silence stretches on. Unlike before, though, it is Phillip who breaks the unbearable pause.

“At first, I didn’t even realize I was dreaming. I came down to the kitchen,” he says, voice trembling, “And you... you were there. Everything was fine, at first. But then... you aged thirty years in front of my very eyes, Phineas. You grew... feeble. And... and... you fell over, and you died. Right on our kitchen floor. I think that’s when... I think that’s when you woke me up.”

“You were screaming,” Phineas whispers.

“I was screaming in my dream, too.”

Everything hurts. His head, his eyes, his throat.

His heart.

Phineas gets up again and Phillip whimpers, reaches for him. Instead of returning, though, Phineas crosses the room. Looks out the window. Moonlight shines in, gently highlighting the lines of his face.

“If it is too much for you,” Phineas mumbles, “I understand. You don’t... you don’t deserve this anxiety. You deserve someone your own age. Man or woman. Someone who—“

“Phineas, _stop!_ ”

Immediately, all talk ceases.

“I just told you that I can’t handle losing you,” Phillip chokes out, “So what in the hell makes you think I could ever leave you?”

Phineas stares down at the floor. He doesn’t have an answer.

Phillip crawls forward, sits on the edge of the bed. He stares down into his lap.

“Please don’t leave me, Phineas,” he begs.

He doesn’t look up, but footsteps cross the floor, and Phineas sits beside him again. A gentle hand cups his cheek, tilts his chin up.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Phineas vows.

Immediately, Phillip pitches forward, burying his face in Phineas’s chest. Strong arms wrap around him, holding him close. He sobs again, quietly, and Phineas doesn’t say a word.

When the majority of Phillip’s cries finally ebb, though Phineas’s nightwear is now soaked through, Phineas tilts his face up again and kisses him. His lips are warm and slightly salty from his own tears. Phillip clings to him, balling Phineas’s nightshirt in his hands.  


When Phineas tries to break the kiss, Phillip won’t let him.

“Don’t leave me,” he mumbles against the older man’s lips.

Phineas’s hold on him tightens. He pulls Phillip closer and slowly slides his hand under Phillip’s nightshirt.

Someday, eventually, they will grow old — Phineas before Phillip, yes, but Phillip eventually will, too. They will each pass on, one, assumably, before the other.

It is not known what one will eventually do without the other.

“ _I’m not going anywhere,_ ” he vows again. 

But, that is not a problem to be faced today, or even tomorrow.

So, for now, he can help Phillip forget. 

And slowly, gently, he starts to pull Phillip’s nightshirt up over his head. He cannot stop time from marching forward forever, but, for now, he can. 

And, for now, Phillip is willing to let him.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m such an asshole asdfghjkl
> 
> Comment if you wanna!


End file.
